Тим Пауэрс - Free Stories 2018

Atherton-Clive had also ran over two of the infected in the garage, which I appreciated, but he had further widened the gap. A few more infected trickled in, growling deep in their chests, their eyes on us, their prey.

The carbine I borrowed was good enough to kill them both with only five or six shots.

I ordered the men into a line, halberds at the low ready and stood behind them. The vice-regent bailed out of the car, and I shot a zombie only a step from grabbing him.

“No tricks, Your Grace,” I warned him. “Come to us with your hands empty or I’ll leave you as a meal for the infected. Your choice.”

He looked at the zombies starting to clamber over the hood and then ran towards our line without a second thought. Muller grabbed him by the back of the neck and lifted him straight of ground. The prelate began to protest, but a light cuff left him quiet. Muller searched him roughly but thoroughly.

Infected were pouring in now. The most damaged garage door was moving back and forth, as though it were being pounded by a hammer. The amount of screaming and growling grew so loud that I had to shout to ensure I was understood.

I emptied the carbine into the press at the door, clogging it for a moment.

“Back upstairs with him, Korporal!” I said, and then readied the line. “Shoulder to shoulder—aim for throats! Here they come.”

I bought us a few more moments, running my pistol dry with carefully aimed shots, and without time for reload, I drew my rapier.

The first few zombies reached our line singly, and economical blows dropped them to the ground. The next few approached at once, and the hallebardiers made quick work of them, working together, one holding the zombie off while the second made a deliberate aimed thrust.

We backed slowly, keeping our dressing. The walls narrowed as we approached the stairs, and then one door failed entirely. It fell inwards, propped up at an angle over the car. Beyond, I could see a nearly unchecked tide of naked, infected humanity. The sound of their keening and growling was so loud that even yelled commands were swallowed by the cacophony. They pressed us, a mindless wall of hunger, and I lost another man right away, his halberd caught in the sternum of his target. He failed to let go and was swarmed. He fought on, alone. I couldn’t afford to break ranks and retrieve him.

I didn’t want to think about what it meant to leave him.

But I still think about it, every day.

We backed to the stairs and compressed our line further, only two men wide. I was in the second rank, next to Taliaferro, and we were shoved back by main force, crushing us back up the stairs. The distance was so short, that we to choke up the grip on our weapons, and take care not to trip the men behind us, but the polearms and our armor were going to make this work.

We’d almost reached the top.

All we had to do was get to the landing, back through it cautiously and block the metal door. And then without warning, Taliaferro began screaming. Confused, I looked for his attacker.

There wasn’t any.

“Get it off, get it off me, get it off, get it off!” He dropped his halberd, tripping up the man in front him. His morion flew away and he began to try to unbuckle the clamshell armor that covered his chest and back.

He never stopped screaming.

“Taliaferro!” I shook him, looking at this eyes closely. “Taliaferro! STOP!”

His skin was hot to the touch. As I drew back in shock, he howled and abandoned his efforts to get out of his armor. His eyes focused on me and when I met them, they were empty of anything by hunger and hate. There was no room to stab him with the sword. Without hesitation, I rammed my rapier blade sideways, taking him above the armor, opening up the great vein on the side of his neck.

He screamed and grabbed for my face while blood spurted into my eyes, blinding me for a moment. The men in front tripped and I heard one scream.

I think it was only one.

Unable to see, I began punching with the guard of my rapier, striking yielding softness. Once my guard struck metal. I backed up a short distance more before I was plucked from my feet and thrown backwards, skidding on my backside.

I dropped the rapier to try to clear my sticky eyes of blood. Through a red-tinted film, I saw one more Guardsman come through the foyer stairway door. Then he and Muller slammed the door shut. Muller picked up a discarded halberd and rammed the spike under the door, wedging it tightly closed.

I stood, collecting my thought. There were four of us left. One guarded Atherton-Clive, and I turned to congratulate Korporal Muller. After today, he would be getting a promotion as well as my personal thanks.

We never would have made it without him.

He was staring at his hand.

It was shaking.

“I’m not doing that, Herr Hauptman,” he said, looking fixedly at the offending limb. “I’m NOT doing that!”

His voice began to rise.

“Shit, shit, shit – sir, help me! Help me, please!”

I tried to understand. Taliaferro in the stairway. Muller above? Both had been vaccinated, receiving their booster with the rest of… the rest of Fourth section. Using the last of the booster that had been sold to us by the reluctant Directore di Hospitale. It hadn’t been quite good enough, and he’d known it.

“No, Muller no!” I yelled. I was done killing my men. I didn’t know how I would restrain him, but I was not going to shoot another Guardsman. Not even if it cost me my life.

His eyes began to grow wild and he turned and blew through the outer door, back the way we’d entered initially. I followed, bumping into the Camerlengo and a quartet of Swiss Guard. Outside, the aroused mob of infected below the parapet sounded like heavy surf beating against our walls in a terrible, unending storm. Occasional keening wails added a terrible counterpoint to the guttural moans and growls. The sound reverberated from the stone buildings that surrounded the Vatican, so that it seemed like the entire burning city was howling in madness.

Korporal Muller stood at the edge of the parapet, at the very edge of the tempest. He was frantically scratching his arm. I approached him cautiously.

“Helmut, let me help you,” I said. “Please.”

“There’s only one way to help me, sir,” he rasped. I could see what the effort to stay in control was costing him. If we could tie him up, perhaps give the antibodies time to defeat the infection, maybe I could save him.

“No, not that way, just lay down and let me secure you long enough—”

“If you won’t do it sir, I will,” Muller answered simply.

And he stepped off the wall.

There is a gap in my memory. I don’t know how long.

I didn’t pass out.

I simply chose not to remember the next few moments.

The same way I chose not to listen to the sounds below the parapet.

I did focus one on thing.

Atherton-Clive.

I stalked back to the foyer. The Camerlengo’s Guardsmen, all from Second, had collected the vice-regent. The surgeon and his assistant were working on my wounded. A pounding noise came from inside, but a glance confirmed that it was another pair of Guardsmen pounding wedges around the door to the stairway, reinforcing it.

Absently, I leaned over and collected a halberd. It had been Muller’s and the haft was tacky with congealed blood. I walked back to where Atherton-Clive was held by a hallebardier, hands zip-tied behind his back. His hair was standing up in all directions and a deep scratch marred his white skin, oozing blood.

It dripped onto his cassock front, staining the gold silk. Cardinal Crivetto watched me approach, his faced lined with concern. Before he could speak, I lowered the polearm from the vertical, and twisting my wrists, I casually whipped the ferrule around in a tight circle, striking Atherton-Clive across the abdomen.